


patchwork arras

by schadenfreude (solitariusvirtus)



Series: Uncanny Westeros (Otherworlds) [36]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/schadenfreude
Summary: One must work towards redemption.Lady Lyanna once thought being the daughter of a great house gave her license to act as she would and damn the consequences. Through her own actions she ruined a man's honour for a bet wherein she ends up losing it all. Life teaches her that no foul deed goes unpunished.AU!
Relationships: Arthur Dayne/Tyta Frey, Jaime Lannister/Elia Martell, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Series: Uncanny Westeros (Otherworlds) [36]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/336412
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	patchwork arras

**Author's Note:**

> [Translator](https://morsecode.world/international/translator.html)

How one could be simultaneous greatly touched and irreverently irritated at the same time? Rhaegar was not quite certain; he was not certain of much of anything, to be sure, but the grip his lady mother exerted on his arm. “You shall make yourself ill,” he warned, eyeing the shards littering the ground. The shattered vase from which the ensuing chaos originated had been exquisite.

“If I do not go mad before,” she declared mournfully. “Then you will all be sorrowed.” He struggled to keep still and not push her from him. Her anger had ever been a summer storm, if a tad harder to endure. He could but hope he might return to his studies soon.

..

There was no change to speak of. Rhaegar looked to the unrolled scroll with the faded lettering. It seemed time had not been kind to the creature within and the shell without. Frowning, he moved his gaze to the calcified egg. He picked up the dagger on the table and reached for the egg, then pressing the tip into tiny space between the scales. Not even a dent. At least whatever remained within was well protected. Sighing, he withdrew the blade and placed it back upon the table. A moment of rest, he told himself, and then he would make another attempt with Valyrian steel.

-.

Nurseries were such spaces as made a man uneasy. Glancing down at the babe gnawing upon a corner of his blanket only seemed to increase the power of his unease. He was a small babe, yet by all accounts like to survive just fine should no ill fate befall him.

“Y’er Grace.” He very nearly jumped at the sound. Rhaegar glanced over his shoulder at a frightened looking wetnurse. He knew without her speaking that she was wondering at his presence, but said naught. It was not her place to question him and certainly not his to soothe her fears. Instead, he leaned in closer, gently tugging the cloth from his brother’s mouth with a soft noise. 

..

The shrill cry of colliding blades rang through the courtyard. Rhaegar pushed back against Arthur’s attack, using a moment of inattention of his foe’s side to kick him away. A low curse was the response of the fallen knight. Rhaegar snorted. “You should not have left yourself open then. Was I not supposed to press my advantage?”

“Knave,” Arthur returned, climbing to his feet. He held his sword in one hand and attempted to brush the dust from his tunic. A glare came upon the heels of the defeat in rescuing his garb from the grasp of dirt.

“A sore loser, are we?” 

-

_Though promising on initial inspection, the fragments might better benefit from a comparison with later writings. The unfortunate reality remains, it is difficult to test any of these claims without the use of an egg._

He considered his options; Rhaegar suspected much of what the writings at the Wall contained would not aid him. But then there was the slight possibility it might. He would not be missed if he did venture North and he would certainly not miss the chaos of his father’s household. His decision had been reached.

Rhaegar reached for his quill, shaking the excess of ink away.

..

Coryn Snow was a rather quick witted lad. Little wonder Aemon had selected him to be his aide. Thus, when he decided to pipe into the conversation as though it was the most natural thing in the world, Rhaegar hadn’t even the faintest of a thought to dismiss him. “It is not at all rare for the maester who serves at the Wall to do so.” For evidence, he pointed to one of the later scrolls, specifically at the marking at the bottom. “Of course, it is no indication of age, merely of when the scroll or tome has been acquired.” 

.-

One might have expected an entirely different world when stepping beyond the limits of the Wall; one would be disappointed to see the world was no different on the other side. The Black Brothers were very pleased to sit around the roaring fire and share tales they’d brought with them from their respective homes.

“One day, she went back to the Stepstones with her babe. Her family took the child from her and dashed his head on the rocks. They slit her throat after.” Thus ended the romance of a Northerner solider and his bride of the Stepstones.

The men seemed pleased enough with the performance. 

-

He thought they were Wildlings. The rotting flesh and incomparably sickening smell clued him in without delay, more so than the odd climatic change enveloping the small perimeter they were spread over. A lit arrow flew past him, embedding into the empty eye-socket of a lumbering corpse. Like a pile of dried wood it burst into flames. He did his best to fend off the advancing foe, not quite certain whether he was the one quivering or if they were caught in the midst of an earthquake. The flash of light reflected upon steel, the shambling creatures pressed in, the wind howled. Blood soaked the snow-blanketed ground.

..

Rhaegar hadn’t the faintest how he escaped. He gazed with tired eyes at Craster’s crone of a wife as she bound his wound with the strips of cloth she’d reportedly prepared especially for him. It was not that he was ungrateful, but he could not help but wonder why it was that only he had made it back. All those men who had fought far more bravely than him were gone. He closes his eyes, fending off the remnants of their horrific demise. How he wished there were some wine. Alas, Craster’s keep boasted no such comforts. Rhaegar opened his eyes.

\---

Cold sweat gathered at his nape; Rhaegar rolled to the side, eyeing the darkest corner of the chamber. The cool breeze coming from without kept him gazing at the lancet. Likely as not the shutters had come loose. There were no creatures hunting him through the night.

There was no snowstorm coming his way. He concentrated on his breathing. In and out, he told himself, would do the trick. Eyes pinned yet to the dark corner, he flinched as the bark of a dog reverberated through the small space.

He only had to keep breathing. The monsters were far beyond the Wall.

-.

Warm booming laughter filled the solar. “You had best see to it that our grandmother does not catch you in such a state.” Her father’s warning was met with a slightly mischievous smile on Lyanna’s part. She decided against making any pert comment as to her grandmother’s capacity to catch her in any manner whatsoever. Instead she grabbed hold on her father’s arm, pressing her weight against him.

“You would protect me though, would you not?” she asked, beseeching him with her tender gaze. It was a victory easily won, for she had always known just how to pull his strings.

-.-.

The thin reed very nearly lacerated her flesh. Lyanna yelped, the tearful excuse on the tip of her tongue dissipating. “Do not think you can bamboozle me, you wretched girl. I know you were not working on your letters.” Down came the stick once more. Her grandmother was a hard woman. Lyanna almost wished she were a son so that the bulk of her tuition might be taken up by Maester Walys. Her brothers very nearly always got away with a mild chastisement and a single strike to the palm. “Rest assured your father will hear of this.” As though father might b any harsher than she herself had been. 

.-.

Benjen paused after having let his arrow loose. He glanced at her as it sailed through the space between him and the target. “You could have given in gracefully.” Sage advice; one she had no wish to hear from the mouth of a babe. Rolling her eyes at him, Lyanna merely grabbed hold of his bow, knocking her arrow into place.

“I shall be free of her meddling soon enough,” she said, releasing the arrow. So precise was her aim that she managed to split her brother’s arrow in half before the tip embedded itself in the body of the target.

.-

“You shall, of course, do your utmost best to display the proper decorum befitting your station.” Her grandmother’s warning had a sobering effect upon Lyanna’s giddiness. Tourney or no tourney, the expectations pressed upon her remained. Fearing the woman’s wrath, however, she chose to keep that thought to herself. By manner of reply, she went with a simple nod.

Her sire’s words were of the more encouraging sort. “Brandon shall keep you safe. Pray stay out of trouble, young lady, and cause your brother no worry. If I hear otherwise upon your return, you may be certain of swift punishment.” Lyanna looked to her shoes.

..-.

The blood-soaked bandages were thrown to the side, half-forgotten as she worked to bind the wounds with clean linen strips. Lyanna sighed to herself at the state of the man. The least he might have done was attempt to protect himself with something more than apathy. Since it would be ungracious to mention it in such blunt terms, she kept her lips tightly sealed.

She had done her duty, even at the cost of her own plans. It could only be hoped Howland Reed would trouble her no further. “There, I daresay this will do,” she said in a soft voice. “Try moving your arm.”

-

Lyanna sneaked a glance at Ashara Dayne’s elder brother. He was a most pleasing specimen, if she knew her gallant knights. Since he paid her little enough mind, she was free to explore his countenance to her heart’s content. If only he weren’t so fascinating. She was supposed to be looking for someone to whom she might tie herself for the rest of her life. Some inoffensive creature she might easily convince to take her on. There had to be some man desperate for standing enough that he would take the risk. Finally, with great difficulty she ripped her gaze away from the fair knight just as the Dornish Princess approached him.

..

Her best innocent face did not seem to be convincing enough. Her brother gave her a suspicious look, yet Benjen seemed equally willing to hear her out. Thus, emboldened by his reaction, she hurriedly launched into her explanation. “’Tis all a jest and naught more,” she insisted. “We shall have a good laugh by the end of it. Only be certain to lead Brandon on the narrow path to the right of the rose garden.”

Benjen shook his head. “You are truly one of a kind. If his temper gets the better of him, I had naught to do with your scheme.”

-.

“But you promised to wed me.” Lyanna wished he’d been anyone else. Arthur Daye was the very last men she’d wished to involve into her scheme. She very nearly did not mind the rough manner in which he shook her hold off.

All the same, with Brandon’s furious gaze upon them, the shocked eyes of Ashara coupled with Ned’s obvious distress and Princes Elia’s incensed glare, it was much too late to pull back.

“Are your wits addled? I made you no such promise.” Those were the last words Ser Arthur managed to get out before Brandon set upon him, much as she had expected.

.

“He must have promised to wed her, my sister would not have allowed him liberties otherwise.” Lyanna was in over her head. Brandon seemed intent on digging her into an early grave. The King, to his credit, took the matter no more seriously than he did a great deal of other things.

When he ordered that Ser Arthur wed her, to the protests of the would-be groom and his present kin, it came as no surprise. Lyanna winched at the look upon Arthur’s face, wondering what manner of husband he might make. There was no going back by that point; she supposed she’d have to deal with it.

…

There was no great fuss to see her to the wheelhouse. Her grandmother’s stick had left lasting marks upon her legs. Her father’s disappointment had been a lasting blow to her heart. All the same, she would not be wedding Robert. Truly Ser Arthur ought to be grateful, she was the daughter of a great house and him a mere second son.

She should have been over the moon.

Lyanna winced as she made herself as comfortable as she might upon the bench. At the very least she had her victory to comfort her. Clinging to that, she closed herself to the tony voice of remorse. The die had been cast. The future was staring her in the face.

…

The meaty arm around her waist tightened its hold. Lyanna screamed out in protest at the rough handling, kicking her legs helplessly. Her efforts won her little enough other than a barrage of curses. “You cur, have you any idea who I am?” The man merely laughed at her question. They had to know that she was noble-born at the very least. It did not seem to help her case in any event.

From one captor she was pushed to another. The man drew a bag over her head, tying it at the neck. The rope had not been tightly drawn about her throat, but with her hands tied to her back, she could not hope to discard it.

…-

“Let me go,” she snapped, tugging on the ropes tying her wrists together. The silver-haired woman inspecting her ignored the words. If she even understood them to begin with. Lyanna was surprised to see her nod but a moment later. One of the burly sentinels came forth, brandishing a knife. He cut her loose.

Before she might even think to rub the stiffness from her wrists, the man made his way behind her and grabbed both of her arms, holding them away from her body.

“Oh no, no, no,” she cried out when she saw the iron in the woman’s hand. Searing metal pressed into her flesh as she screamed.

..

Coins exchanged hands. Lyanna kept her gaze upon the ground. She did not want to know who had bought her. The very fact that she had been sold to begin with was inconceivable. Her, the daughter of a great house, sold as a chunk of meat. The villains, they hadn’t even listened to her when she begged them to write to her family. Her sire would have paid the bond.

She was forced to lift her gaze by a firm hand. Lyanna merely retreated deeper into herself, doing her best to look through the visage of the man whose gaze bore down upon her.

.-..

She couldn’t stand it. She would not stand for it. Lyanna eyes rested upon the small stain upon the sheets. There had to be some way to escape her bonds. She’d not been made for such a role, it ill-suited her. It was not even that she mourned her lost innocence. There were far worse ways in which she might have been made a woman.

But she was no one’s slave and certainly not one who would be content to be a pillow girl. Lyanna glanced at the door. She could simply choose to walk away and see how far she might go.

It was the easiest thing to do.

.-..

Under the cover of the night she managed to reach as far as the gardens. Lyanna had not expected a pit. Even less had she expected that she might fall into one and land in such a way as to break something. Alas, there she was, trapped in some shallow grave, her leg likely mangled beyond belief and any realistic chance at escape dashed.

Even breathing was no easy feat. Clenching her teeth tightly she did her best to smother the scream crawling up her throat. She would not give them the satisfaction, she told herself. Her eyes watered. Lyanna dearly hoped her confidence was enough.

.

The Master watched her with unrelenting eyes. There was naught which might suggest even as much as understanding, let alone pity. However, neither did he seem incensed. The careful work of the man doctoring her wounds, a middle aged fellow whose sole interest seemed to be reserved for the tightness of the bandages as opposed to the smooth flesh unveiled to him, gave her some notion of what would come to pass.

It made her feel very much like a disobedient child who had been given her just deserts. He’d not even spoken to her, as though she were quite beneath his notice.

..

“There are far easier ways to die.” The words took her by surprise. His command of the Westron tongue was flawless. Had she not know any better, she would’ve thought he were from her homeland, or near enough. The Master was not looking at her though. His eyes were upon the untouched tray of food. “I could bring you a dagger. Or poison, if you prefer.” Wide-eyed, she kept on staring at him. She didn’t want to die.

The mystery of it all called to her. She had a reason to live. She had answers to find. She did not want to die.

-.

Wincing as the soup scalded her tongue, Lyanna did her best to swallow. She forced a little more of the brew down her throat, promising herself that it would aid her in the end. She would be glad one day that she had fought her natural reaction to the repulsive taste.

The bone was healing along nicely. She’d even managed to move her toe. It was a hard won battle. In fact, Lyanna was quite proud of herself. A few mouthfuls of soup later, she decided it was quite enough and pushed the bowl away, careful not to spill the rest of its contents.

.-

The garden was rather lovelier in the light of day when one was not trapped in a pit with a broken leg. There were a few rosebushes in full bloom and some flowers she’d not seen before in her life. All of them were brightly coloured. She wondered why the Master kept such a garden. It was hardly practical. The flowers were magnificent, but he could use some herbs. At least a small square of them away from one’s general line of sight, that might do for a project. She wondered if she might convince the man to allow her to see something of the sort through. 

\--.

The Master held their son. Lyanna eyes him with thinly veiled interest. She’d not seen much of men interacting with babes. In point of fact, she could not recall her sire seeking her out when she’d been a mite of a thing. He might have, for all she knew; if she’d slept through it just as her son did, ‘twas no wonder she had no memory of it.

“Are you pleased then?” she questioned. His expression gave little away.

Gently, he handed the child back to her. A nod was her answer. She would have to think of a name for the child since his sire showed no interest in granting him one.

.

The cut on her son’s finger still bothered her. Lyanna looked at the father-son duo. Had she not known any better, she would have been made easy by the sight. As matters stood, she wondered how much of it was genuine and how much of it the Master feigned. He’d been very much the same with her as well, she recalled. If he was using her son, she wanted to know what it was for. She did not mind for herself, not any longer; but Jon was innocent. She would see to it that he was treated with the kindness he deserved. 

.-.

Lyanna pushed against the door with all her, meagre, might. It did not make it budge. Pursing her lips she wondered why it was locked to begin with. He had taken her son in there earlier; whatever was within necessitated keys and locks. She did not like it one bit. Yet for the time being, she could do very little.

The keys were with the housekeeper. Since the Master had no one filling the official position of wife, he had simply hired a crone to take care of domestic matters. A good thing Lyanna was on good enough terms with the woman.

.

“You ought to rest your eyes for a little while.” Using Bastard Valyrian still did not come natural to her. She’d managed to acquire a great deal of vocabulary though and she suspected that were she given a chance to interact beyond the constrained environment of the Master’s home, she might even become fluent.

The crone readily agreed to her suggestion. Lyanna was not certain how long she had, thus she gently swiped the key ring away from the woman’s girdle and made for the locked chamber.

It took a moment for her to find the key that fit, but she somehow managed it in spite of her trembling fingers.

-..

Father’s beard; it was a dragon egg. Lyanna marvelled at the contents of the small chest. She reached one single finger out and touched the cool ossified scales. She could make out a thin line running against a few of the scales; it was almost as though someone had taken a blade to it. How odd, the last she’d heard dragon eggs were rather durable.

Yet if she remained where she was for much longer, she was sure to be caught. Having satisfied her curiosity, Lyanna closed the lid upon the secret, made her way without and locked the chamber. With a bit of luck, no one would have even seen her make her way without her chamber.

.

There was precisely one letter which clarified the entire situation for her. Lyanna gasped at the bit of parchment, not nearly believing what her eyes so readily read. Something of her old pride preened. She was the mother of a prince. Her sweet babe was no mere bastard of some middling merchant.

Like a pail of water thrown from above, realisation dampened her spirits. He might not be a mere bastard, but his sire certainly had not given him a proper name, nor recognised him. What if he never did? Could she let the matter drop? Ought she even? Lyanna placed the letter back in its spot. 

\--

The glare chilled her to the bone. “Do I not deserve to know what you are doing to my son?” The words spilled past her lips somehow; Lyanna was fairly glad she managed to keep her voice from wavering. “He has another cut. Why does he keep collecting cuts, I wonder.” He did not seem inclined to give her any manner of answer. Lyanna decided she would not give up in spite of that. “Rhaegar, I need to know.”

That, at long last, got her his full attention. Good and well, she was ready to hear some answers out of him and she would have them.

.--.

As most wounded beasts, Lyanna took a great deal of care with licking her wounds. She glared at the Master, not quite comfortable yet thinking of him in any other terms. She had to admit that a few days locked in her chamber with only visits from her son had worked like a charm; too well, in fact, for her to pretend she had even half as much power as she’d imagined. “Lacking you usual pride, I see.” She glowered but made no reply. “Good on you; a leman should know her place.” The mark on her arm tingled with phantom pain as he knocked her down several more pegs.

-

Jon’s head lied in her lap. Lyanna was combing her fingers through his dark curls, glad that his sire was done with him for the time being. He’d allowed her in the chamber as well. She could not quite content herself with the fact that blood was required of her sweet babe. She paused in her strokes in order to poke at the bandaged fingers. “Does it hurt, sweeting?”

Jon shook his head. “Try to sleep, my love; you’ve had a full morning, that you did.” She bent down to kiss his forehead. At least he was pleased with how matters stood.

..

“Whatever for?” Lyanna was well aware she should not be questioning him. He’d made it abundantly clear, after all, that she was to obey. Yet so great was her surprise that she could not help herself. With baited breath she awaited his answer.

“I trust you miss your king; it won’t do a great deal of harm to see them.” And just like that his intentions came to the surface. Frowning, she nodded her head. “The boy stays with me; he is much too young to undertake such a journey.” In his stead she would not wish to lose her bargaining chip either.

\---

The cabin swayed. The whole damned ship swayed. Lyanna moaned in displeasure, bent over her bucket. It took a great deal of effort to keep the thing from falling over and spraying the remnants of her meagre sustenance all over the floor. Something like a sob left her throat along with an empty heave. She should have stayed in Lys, in the garden, working on her square of herbs. Pulsating pain latched onto her throat. She half feared it might burst open. Never in her life had she felt such terrible terror, not even in the dark pit with a broken leg.

-.

“It was a wretched thing of me to do; to accuse an innocent man like I did and then keep silent on the matter of his lack of involvement.” Elia, Princess of Dorne and lady-wife to the Casterly Rock heir, looked only half as incensed as Lyanna thought she might. “I cannot express how sorry I am.”

The Dornishwoman leaned back in her seat; her unsmiling face giving way to a thoughtful expression. “I wonder why you came to me with this.”

“I wanted you to know.” It would not fix anything, she was aware. But at the very least truth would triumph.

-.-.

“You let me believe he’d done you far worse than a merely broken promise.” Lyanna had once thought that no man could ever make her feel lower than Rhaegar had. Looking in her brother’s eyes, she felt, indeed, lower than even dirt. “I would have done anything for you. I did not suspect you would ever take advantage of me so.” He looked upon the marking on her flesh. “I am glad for the words; they give me hope that a lesson has been learned.” She knew not whether he only said the words to comfort himself, but when his arms fell about her she felt forgiven.

\---

“Do you expect my forgiveness then?” The question had not been put forth mockingly. But there was anger in those words; well deserved ire. “Shall I tell you that all is well? That these years have passed and my heart no longer burns at the memory of your villainy?”

“I know I’ve done little to deserve forgiveness. I merely hope that one day you might show me grace.” He did not seem too keen on pursuing the matter any further. “I’ve taken up enough of your time, I do not doubt. My gratitude for agreeing to hear me out.”

He nodded, but said no more. Lyanna supposed she had her answer.

-.

“After so many years, what does it matter?” Arthur regarded Elia with something akin to regret. “I am glad she cleared up the misunderstanding, but all the same, we should let sleeping dogs lie.” She’d not stood by him; had she backed him, matters might have turned out differently. But then she had her own position to think of and though their brief affair had been most innocent, it would have been a risk. A risk she was not willing to take as it turned out.

“It does not, I suppose,” Elia allowed. “I am happy with my husband. I wanted to know that you are happy too.”

.-..

“At the very least we can put the matter to rest.” They were similar in many ways; Elia wondered if that was why she’d accepted her brother’s choice in the end. Jaime was not quite as polished as Arthur had been, but there was a fierceness about him which suited her.

She leaned her head onto his shoulder, enjoying the peace of the moment. “I am glad for that as well.” They might be very much one like the other, but she’d not once made her husband the substitute for the lover of her ill-fated romance.

Things had a way or working out.

..-

Rhaegar watched the man from afar. Lord Stark’s heir had had quite a bit to drink. He knew not whether that eased his sorrow; one could never quite tell where comfort simply bled into stupor. Starks did not seem to enjoy facing reality; whether they hid behind masks or drinks, they hid all the same.

A serving girl paused at his table. He merely gave her coin for another tankard of ale. “Say, wouldn’t you like some company, love?” she asked rather cheekily. Rhaegar looked her over.

“My gratitude, but I am waiting for someone.” She pouted, but hurried off to fetch his ale all the same.

…

He looked far older than she recalled. Lyanna bent down to kiss her father’s hand. The tears in his eyes brought dampness to hers. “I never thought I would see you again.” Having fallen into her own weeping, Lyanna could only mumble her response to that. “My poor dearling.” That he loved her still in spite of all she had done beggared belief. “You have returned at last.”

“I am so very sorry.” He sat up with some difficulty, barely managing to embrace her.

“I forgive you.” He was the first to say the words to her. Lyanna wept all the harder.

..

The weirwood’s haunting face glared at them. Lyanna was wiping the tears away as best she could, not truly knowing what to say. In the end, she settled for, “Are you certain?” Rhaegar’s eyes met hers. They were beautiful eyes.

“I am.” He squeezed her hand in his. “Now come, let us make our vows. Jon awaits my return and he shall be very glad to see his mother.” It was not to be a wedding befitting the daughter of a great house and a prince; but it fit Lyanna and Rhaegar only too well.

There was no need to complicate matters any further.

\---

“Sulking, ser?” Arthur smiled at the sound of his wife’s voice. He turned from the sight of the fountain to face the approaching woman. Ned slumbered in her arms, head on her shoulder. Her lips were upturned in a tender smile. “I hope all went well.”

Arthur took the weight of his son upon himself. “It went as expected.” Tyta nodded her head, moving to cup his cheek, as though she were trying to offer him comfort. Her thumb stroked against his skin. They needed no further words. It forever awed him that he’d managed to build such a marriage with a woman so very different from what he’d once envisioned.

-.

**Author's Note:**

> [Translator](https://morsecode.world/international/translator.html)


End file.
